


The Night Was Also Moist

by PrettyMessedUpSituation (MarcelinesNightosphere)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acute Bowlegs, Alley Sex, Bisexual Dean, Britney has a secret identity, Death by Dildo, Eddie Izzard Mention bc Eddie Izzard Exists, F/M, Fic within a Fic, God Ships It, God is pleased with himself, Implied Bludgeoning, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Just Walk Away Slowly And We'll Pretend This Never Happened, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Metatron Ships It, Multi, Murder, Open Marriage, Other, Politics, Random Complaining, Road Trips, Sam Ships It, Saving the World, The Abusive Relationship Between the Writer and Bucklemming, The Word Moist, Unnecessary French, Unofficial Sequel, Writer's Block, dreams come true
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:18:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7846588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcelinesNightosphere/pseuds/PrettyMessedUpSituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metatron has writer's block due to the Winchesters being boring af now that they're safe and had fanfiction, and he fortunately shares a house in heaven with the one being who can fix the story and make it more interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Was Also Moist

**Author's Note:**

> The reader would benefit from reading the following fics prior to this one for context since this is kind of a sequel?????????? kind of????
> 
> [Shipper Heaven](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5399048) and [Just Do It For FUCKSAKE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7507576).
> 
> Also, shout out to Team TrashBrigade for helping me get out of a little writer's block of my own in like 0.5 seconds bc they're awesome ladies with amazing ideas that always involve either food or dildos (or sometimes both). I love you gals.

_ The night was dark and stormy, rain pounding against the window like wet, dead fingers begging to be let inside, the blackness around him only disturbed by a flash of lightning. He buried his head in his hands, shivering and flinching when the thunder rolled. _

 

_ “What have I done?” he murmured to himself, over and over again. “What the hell have I done.” _

* * *

Metatron sighed. He ripped the page from the typewriter. “I’m terrible and I quit.”

Things just weren’t the same. Angst was all he could write these days. Angst and crack. At least angst fit in with the entire feel of the story, but it was emotionally exhausting. And his muses were just doing fuckall to help. The three of them weren’t even working. They were sitting around writing fanfiction about each other. How fucked up was that? 

Metatron sighed. Again. He balled up the story he’d been working on and threw it into the trashcan. He sighed heavily again as he watched the crumpled up ball of white garbage trickle down the pile of its kin and fall into a pile of bad ideas, circling the can like some sad sacrificial metaphor. This was embarrassingly like every writer’s block montage in every film featuring a writer in the history of ever. Sigh.  _ Let’s make it more interesting, _ he thought.  _ Le sigh.  _ That’s French, right? French is interesting.  _Le chat est sur la chaise_ , Metatron thought. "That Eddie Izzard...now _that's_ a comedian."

But the fond thoughts of Eddie Izzard's "Dressed to Kill" bits couldn't distract him for long. All of the anger and frustration he felt started spilling out while he stared at the wastepaper basket. 

Where were the reapers? The good ones from the early days, not the bullshit ones that took vessels and were gutter mercenaries, no better than Russian mobsters in bad action films. Zombies were overused in media. Vampires too. What could the boys face next? They’ve gone from dealing with Satan and opening the gates of hell to ghoulpires kicking their ass. Ghoulpires were funny though, so that can slide. Everything important was glazed over while everything that had potential seemed to be over way too quick. Was Dean even a demon? Could he be cured, even though he had the Mark of Cain? Wouldn’t that make him a knight of hell and a super-demon? What was even happening? 

But wasn’t this what he had wanted for endgame, despite all the fucked up mess in between? The boys were safe, together, and in the bunker. Good things were happening. Ish. Sometimes his fanfiction got mixed with canon and things got a little hazy on the edges when he tried to figure out what the real story was. Happy was good, but what if things were less _good_ , and more... _interesting?_

Metatron got up and stormed out of his corner writing room with a swish of his robe. He went upstairs and down the hall to Chuck’s bedroom and knocked impatiently. No answer. 

“This is heaven, Chuck. I  _ know _ you’re here,” Metatron said. "We _live_ here." No response. "Don't make me wake Cain." Still no answer. He pushed in through the unlocked door to find Chuck on his bed, headphones on and watching something on his laptop. 

“Marv! What the hell?! I’m - I’m busy!” Chuck frantically tried to close out tabs on his screen. Metatron grabbed his laptop and spun it around. 

“Cats," he said, both disappointed and accusing. "You’re looking at cats. It’s not even porn!” he shouted, exasperated. He flopped onto the bean bag chair in Chuck’s floor, wondering why the fuck Chuck had a bean bag chair. 

“Wh-what’s going on? Did someone die?” 

“No! That’s the problem! Nothing’s happening! Everything’s Boring!!!!!!!!!!!” he exclaimed with more exclamation points than necessary. 

“Should I...should I start a plague?” Chuck asked. Metatron rolled his eyes. “Listen, I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“I don’t know. Start some shit.”

“Fuck, man. I don’t know what to do,” Chuck said.

“What hasn’t been done before?” 

Chuck closed his laptop. “I’ve been on this story in particular for three generations, which isn’t much time in the grand scheme of things, but still. We’ve done time travel, gods, angels, the devil, ghosts, reapers, demons, Final Destination shit, psychic killer kids, evil humans,poltergeist, long lost loves,  incest-adjacent demon possession, regular demon possession, the antichrist, seals of hell, treachery, murdered nuns, Mother of All Evil, leviathan, purgatory, vampires, This Is Your Life where everyone you saved dies, witches, spells, hexes, hellhounds, bugs, racist truck, the Future, the wild west, a fucking phoenix, a car crash, electrocution, tulpas, fucked up human beings, Ghostfacers, breaking the fourth wall, fan fiction, LARPing, endless parallels, dream lives, rugarus, fucking with Fate, ladies on fire, personal heavens, clowns, necromancers, mannequins, Dean being turned on by a poodle, faery folk...."  


He took a deep breath.

"There were shapeshifters. Wendigo, bank robberies and run-ins with law enforcement, fake identities, alphas, sacrifices, cured demons, fangirls, unsinking the Titanic, a coup or two, demon spawn, my sister, fallen angels, a wraith, ghouls, skinwalkers, djinn, haunted houses, haunted possessions, haunted painting, Bloody Mary, urban legends, a fucking Khan worm, kitsunes, werewolves, awesome old ladies, conspiracy theories, plane crashes, magical aging and de-aging, non-con marriage, a retirement home, prophets, good demons, bad angels, body swapping, infections, broken leg bones, insane asylums, telenovelas, game shows, shipping, conventions, over a hundred Tuesdays, the Winchester gospel, death by taco, a tractor angel, alien abduction, fucked up plot holes, bucklemming, a fucking dragon, very bisexual sirens, vetalas, striga, covens, lies, secrets, zombies, a woodchipper incident, an alternate dimension, and the horsemen of the apocalypse. Death especially. Oh Jesus, even ghoulpires.”

“I actually liked the ghoulpires.”

“They were funny, huh?" Chuck said with a smile. "Well, in the visual sense. And the name. Visually and audibly funny, not funny in their motives.” Chuck drummed his fingers. “I just don’t know what else we could do.” 

Metatron shifted in the bean bag chair. “What about happiness?” Chuck looked confused. “Like, honest to You, wholesome, non-djinn or angel induced happiness?” 

“Like...a family vacation?”

“Well...sure, I guess. I mean  _ something _ . Preferably more adventurous than a vacation. Have they ever been to Vegas?”

“They’ve done the gambling thing and the magic thing and the stripper thing and the drinking thing. Don’t know what else they could do in Vegas.” 

Metatron laughed. “Britney Spears.”

Chuck cocked his head to the side. “I’d like to see their faces when they find out she’s a - "

“I know!” Metatron said, interrupting at a very inconvenient time for the curious reader. “But you have to write it. If _you_ write it, it’ll happen. _It'll be God's word._ ” 

 

Chuck sighed and downed the rest of his whiskey. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and started to type.

* * *

 

_ Peace is a beautiful thing. Deep, restful nights and relaxing days with the people you love is something most aspire to, but never reach. For Sam and Dean, that life had never been in the cards. That is, until an angel, some friends, a vampire, a demon, and a witch changed the course of their existence. And maybe a god. _

_ Peace is certainly something to hope for, but that kind of life, even if deserved, isn’t the Winchester’s style. They could have read leisurely on a beach, gone fishing in a mountain lake, or spent some time staring out at the plains as they drove across that road they knew so well. But because they're them they had to find adventure along the way, cut their well-earned quiet vacation short, to do what they do best - to  save humanity.  _

_ Dean had, perhaps miraculously, found a coupon sticking out of a  _ Busts _ magazine at an adult store for a half-price custom dildo at a nearby kink shop/art studio. It just so happened that when the three arrived at the studio, they ran into a certain artist and porn star that made Dean stop in his tracks. Castiel and Sam stood and watched as Dean stammered the man’s name, completely starry-eyed. It was Castiel who approached him, asking the well-endowed, kind, and talented man for an odd favor.  _

_ Colby Keller was a special person. Not just in his talents as Dean knew them, but from a supernatural perspective. In the grand scheme of things, Colby was a very important person - probably the most important person that the three could have come across in their travels.  _

_ Castiel asked Colby if he would help participate in redeeming Dean’s coupon. After meeting eyes with the befreckled green-eyed stammerer, Colby agreed with a toying grin. An hour and a half later, after a playful promise of a kiss in return of favor that turned into a back-alley dream come true, an impressive mold was made, and Dean walked out of the shop, however extra-bowlegged, with a customized Colby Keller replica dildo that would never quite be the same as the real thing. But almost as good. _

_ The girl behind the counter that was helping with the sale helped Castiel and Sam out with a few things while they waited, and fell into conversation with Sam about some spells and lore. While Castiel wandered around the store with a smile on his face, near giddy about Dean’s once in a lifetime experience, he was distracted by some news on the television.  _

_ A despot. A demagogue. Someone whose name Castiel recognized. An unsightly and unpleasant man who had supported Dick Roman’s rise to power was running for President of the United States. It was unfortunate, to say the least.  _

_ But things do happen for a reason.  _

 

_ As the girl at the front was ringing up Dean’s order, she grinned at his flushed cheeks but found her gaze locked on his brother. She slipped a book of spells she’d been reading behind the counter into the bag as a small token, her number scrawled on the inside cover. The boys left and drove toward Las Vegas where they saw the great Britney sing and Castiel won enough money from the casino that they were escorted out cordially by men who thanked Mr. Spears for his business, and asked him to not return. Sam took the wheel from Las Vegas to let Mr. and Mr. Winchester sleep it off in the backseat, and when the newlyweds woke up, they were in California. Sam wasn’t sure why he’d driven this way, but, again, things do happen for a reason.  _

_ On the news in a diner, the orange-faced man appeared again, and this time Sam and Dean recognized the name as well. A man who facilitated the rise of Dick. Now for men like Sam and Dean Winchester, the accomplice of an old nemesis like Dick Roman becoming the President wasn’t something that be ignored. Especially if there was any slight possibility that the man in question was himself Leviathan.  _

_ Dean slid the book he found in the bag from the kink shop over to Sam and teased him about the girl. Sam finds a spell to make an ordinary object powerful enough to kill malevolent supernatural creatures - maybe even Leviathan.  _

_ In Sacramento, outside of a Trump rally, Sam, Dean, and Castiel Winchester promise to make the most out of the rest of their vacation on a beach with a lot of tasty beverages with tiny umbrellas - but first, they had to beat Donald Trump to death with a magical dildo cast from Colby Keller’s spectacular dick. _

* * *

 

Chuck closed his laptop. "And God said, “Let the Evil that rises to lead a nation with hatred, bigotry, and lies be cast out of existence by heaven's favorite righteous men on earth."

Metatron nodded, tears in his eyes. "And it was good."

**Author's Note:**

> You may be asking yourself, "Why does this exist?" and "Is there bleach I can readily pour on my brain?"  
> I'm not sure about the bleach (please don't do that), but the why this exists is [here](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/148681056700/augusts-prompt-posting-dates-20-23-of-august). 
> 
> Also for non-weird fics, please feel free to peruse my other works.


End file.
